Working On A Dream
by tromana
Summary: Melanie Jane Bush taught herself to be a happy child.


**Title: **Working On A Dream  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Mel Bush, OC  
**Summary:** Melanie Jane Bush taught herself to be a happy child.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who; Big Finish owns my soul.  
**Author's Notes:** First Mel fic outside of a drabble.

**Working On A Dream**

Melanie Jane Bush taught herself to be a happy child.

At primary school, her red ringlets, which her mother had always insisted were 'beautiful', singled her out. Children, regardless of age, were mercilessly cruel and Mel, being ever so slightly different due to a sheer fluke of genetics was the target. As a five year old, her pale skin was surprisingly thin, and she often returned home in the afternoon in a flurry of tears.

She tried immersing herself in books to distract herself from it. The princesses were always tall, willowy blondes. Occasionally they were dark haired, but never short with violently red hair that stood out from the crowd. She questioned her mother about it, desperate for reassurance. Her mother assured her that she should be proud about her differences. Still, she continued to read, and imagine.

Her mother expected her to be pleased when a space became available shortly after her seventh birthday for the local brownie pack. Spending her free time with her peers, when she could be devouring yet more books, was not exactly favourable. She attended, grudgingly, and her Brown Owl was kind and attentive. The majority of the other girls acted like they did at school.

It was one sodden Thursday evening, shortly before Mel's eighth birthday, that the kindly old woman brought in her husband's soldering kit for the girls to try out. Most couldn't care less, much preferring to play tag in the courtyard of the modest hall that the pack met at. Mel was enchanted and within the night had finished soldering her first circuit, a small alarm not dissimilar to those used for doorbells.

The girl working opposite her was new to the village and still hadn't settled into life in Pease Pottage, never mind the workings of the school or Brownie pack. She struggled, becoming incredibly frustrated with her alarm, with no one to ask as the leaders were sorting out a tussle between two girls outside. Mel sat down beside her and carefully guided her hands until she too had a fully functioning alarm.

The girl eventually stuttered her name. Amanda. For the first time in years, Mel smiled a proper smile for someone outside of her family.

Together they played, laughed, smiled. Invented tall tales of princesses and knights who would battle the monsters to get to their beloved. Mel beamed as Amanda told her she was jealous, _jealous_ of her bouncing curls. During term time, Amanda, fraught with worry, would confide in Mel and seek assistance for spelling tests and mental arithmetic. On birthdays Mel grinned as she tore open books on electronics, for a far higher reading level than her own addressed in a misspelled scrawl from Amanda.

Shortly after Amanda turned twelve, she announced to Mel through sobs of tears that she would be moving again. Mel thought she would never get over being separated from the only friend she knew.

Letters over time helped. Mel smiled as she watched Amanda's handwriting slowly begin to tidy up and her spelling improve. She always replied, eagerly, telling her about the latest projects in electronics, and excitedly about how the school had just purchased some computers and how she was allowed to help set up the network.

The letters slowed and Mel had grown accustomed to wearing that fake smile at school and then college. To forgiving so easily. It was more exhausting to hold grudges against so many people for so long. Still, people picked her out, for the hair, the frankly unusual memory. Time had allowed her skin to grow thicker and the young men at college were usually just happy to have some more feminine company around.

When she met the Doctor, he wasn't exactly her knight in shining armour. He was more rotund, head to toe in garish colours with curls almost as unruly as her own. But he would have to do. At least the fighting of monsters was accurate with her childhood fantasies.

Now, she doesn't have to pretend anymore.

end


End file.
